


Iron and Nitroglycerin

by arschemy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Katsuki Reincarnation, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Good With Kids, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Cook, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Bakugou Katsuki-centric, Bakugou Mitsuki's Bad Parenting, Bakugou Supremacy, Bakusquad (My Hero Academia), Bakusquad Shenanigans (My Hero Academia), CEO Bakugou Katsuki, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Model Bakugou Katsuki, Number One Hero Bakugou Katsuki, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, Tony Stark Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arschemy/pseuds/arschemy
Summary: In another life, the legacy of the ‘Merchant of Death’ turned ‘Protector of Life’ comes to an end as the world’s greatest hero. In this one, Bakugou Katsuki rises to continue what he started.Or, Iron Man reincarnation into Ground Zero; inspired by Marvel’s timeline of events.
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Bakugou Katsuki, Akaguro Chizome | Stain & Bakugou Katsuki, Ashido Mina & Bakugou Katsuki & Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Sero Hanta, Bakugou Katsuki & Class 1-A, Bakugou Katsuki & Eri, Bakugou Katsuki & Izumi Kouta, Bakugou Katsuki & League of Villains, Bakugou Katsuki & Sensei | All for One, Bakugou Katsuki & Tony Stark
Comments: 56
Kudos: 528
Collections: Identity Crisis





	1. TABLE OF CONTENTS

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [blackugou widow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146253) by [wonhaebunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonhaebunny/pseuds/wonhaebunny). 
  * Inspired by [Not a Spare Part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18974530) by [Roygkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roygkid/pseuds/Roygkid). 



A story about the greatest hero known to man, in any universe.

* * *

PROLOGUE — _PART OF THE JOURNEY_

CHAPTER 1 — _prodigy son_

CHAPTER 2 — _born to be a hero_

CHAPTER 3 — _making a choice_

CHAPTER 4 — _found family_

CHAPTER 5 — _bonds of friendship_

CHAPTER 6 — _the liar and the enabler_

CHAPTER 7 — _true potential_

CHAPTER 8 — _here to win_

CHAPTER 9 — _we’re a team_

CHAPTER 10 — _to win is to save_

CHAPTER 11 — _a villain and a hero_

CHAPTER 12 — _makings of a failed society_

CHAPTER 13 — _save yourself_

CHAPTER 14 — _who are you_

CHAPTER 15 — _we are our own heroes_

CHAPTER 16 — _revenge best served cold_

CHAPTER 17 — _the underdog and the successor_

CHAPTER 18 — _family isn’t blood_

CHAPTER 19 — _caged bird, clipped wings_

CHAPTER 20 — _will over matter_

CHAPTER 21 — _learn to fly_

CHAPTER 22 — _born for this_

CHAPTER 23 — _come back home_

CHAPTER 24 — _number one_

CHAPTER 25 — _whatever it takes_

CHAPTER 26 — _i am ground zero_

CHAPTER 27 — _ashes and stardust_

CHAPTER 28 — _our supernova_

CHAPTER 29 — _for those left behind_

CHAPTER 30 — _legacy of the greatest_

EPILOGUE — _IS THE END_


	2. prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end and the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was made to be short! stay tuned and follow my socials;
> 
> [ arschemy's tumblr ](https://arschemy.tumblr.com/post/627311169446772736/welcome-33)  
> [ fic references ](https://asouefanpage.wixsite.com/arschemy)  
> [ arschemy's twitter ](https://twitter.com/arschemy)

A tug of war. A squabble over terrain, a fight for the crown, and a war about power. The air’s filled with tension and unease, both sides neck and neck, at their limit. With a blink of an eye and a flick of a wrist, a winner prevails amidst the chaos of dying souls.

The surge of power flows through their body with little resistance, spending years with the impending doom that shrapnels can pierce one’s heart is nothing to scoff at, of course. They share a look, the two greatest warriors in the battlefield on black and white opposing sides. Funny how both are convinced they’re pure when they’re all tainted grey. One with power taken through bloodshed and another created to abide their own suffering. Gifted with talents beyond human comprehension and while one sought to bring death and destruction, the other fought for life and protection.

The line uttered among the silence of screaming battle cries, will forever be remembered by the remainder of generations to come. A proof of existence, the start of a legacy — by planting seeds in a garden one never gets to see. 

_“I am Iron Man.”_

Now in English, ‘death’ has a rare sound, the only ordinary word that rhymes with it is ‘breath’. One can almost say it’s funny, how the man that struggled with something as simple and mundane as breathing for most of his life, experience the best of deaths. To die remembered. To die with no regrets. And to die in peace.

How utterly beautiful it is to witness the fall of an inevitable tyrant. Most of all, the captivating groundbreaking realization amidst the ashes and smoke of the once catalysts of fatality, that the story isn’t about victory, but rather, _change_. This voyage comes to a close with the witnessing of the Merchant of Death become the Protector of Life. Some say _that_ was his last act of defiance.

How wrong they were, for somewhere out there in the vast multiverse they fought to salvage, a pair of red eyes snap open with renewed vigor to continue what Tony Stark started. Let us follow the legacy of the greatest heroes ever known, the end and the beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was made to be short! stay tuned and follow my socials;
> 
> [ arschemy's tumblr ](https://arschemy.tumblr.com/post/627311169446772736/welcome-33)  
> [ fic references ](https://asouefanpage.wixsite.com/arschemy)  
> [ arschemy's twitter ](https://twitter.com/arschemy)


	3. prodigy son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lies inside the legacy of the Bakugou family.
> 
> word count: 6632

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh this took me a month to write and it's definitely just pure history and worldbuilding but also some projection of headcanons!
> 
> i'll be posting a google docs reference on how the fic is related to marvel, basically detailing the references i made that may have been obvious or a simple passing comment. this is for those that doesn't know tony stark to a committed level that i have (a lot honestly) so they can get why i'm placing those tidbit of information!
> 
> [ fic references ](https://asouefanpage.wixsite.com/arschemy)  
> [ arschemy's tumblr ](https://arschemy.tumblr.com/post/627311169446772736/welcome-33)  
> [ arschemy's twitter ](https://twitter.com/arschemy)

_“Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.”_

_[ Tony Stark, Iron Man 1 ]_

* * *

When Bakugou Katsuki was born, it was an online and offline spectacle in the modelling world. Not a single aspiring model or fashion designer hasn’t heard his name, being the son of Japan’s number one model and CEO of the biggest fashion company, M&M Corporations, had its perks after all. At first, it was simply a rumor in the biggest community of gossips ever known, as all the facts pointed to that one truth. Mitsuki Bakugou filling for leave lasting roughly around the duration of nine months now and Masaru Bakugou assigning another team of people in his company to distribute the work he currently can’t attend to due to ‘personal issues.’

At first the public thought it was infidelity and marriage problems plaguing the couple, though the legal team shut that down quickly enough with under wraps threats of lawsuits. After a few months of the public not catching a glimpse of the model and the infamous fashion designer running out of excuses, the media tabloids hit the jackpot in foretelling the future.

What the nail in the coffin though was the leaked image of the couple spotted buying baby clothes and pampers just a month before the alleged nine month target of conspiracy theorists and rumours everywhere. (As if the baby bump seen in the woman’s womb wasn’t enough to convince people.) The M&M Corporation’s legal team and PR took action and necessary precautions since it was pre-debut of official announcements, but the damage was done with even more speculation circling. Masaru, the father, at first didn’t want to share their son’s birth to the prying eyes of the world, not wanting him to grow spotlighted, yet lost that fight to Mitsuki on how it could be good publicity. What’s the harm in racing the kid in the fashion environment when he was going to follow their footsteps after all, right?

When the news was finally confirmed, they praised and they praised the child that didn’t understand anything happening around him, content with falling asleep or playing with his lion stuff toy. He didn’t understand the cameras flashing everywhere he looks, the articles printed, rumors spread, and looking back at his childhood, he really should have taken they time to know _why_. Then maybe he’d turn out the way his parents wanted him to be.

Katsuki had red piercing eyes that bore straight at your soul and beautiful small strands of blonde hair resting atop his head. He’s absolutely gorgeous, the moment his parents saw him, they instantly knew he was destined for greater things, feats they themselves couldn’t achieve. When Mitsuki and her son finally got cleaned up by the hospital staff after a grueling experience of childbirth, she got the chance to truly hold her firstborn in her arms. The successor to everything she and her husband has built, the catalyst for newer heights, the pave way to endless opportunities.

“Now that you’re finally here kid, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” She promises under her breath as her child lulls himself to sleep, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Funny how quickly she changed her mind.

After a week of bustling around the hospital, they were discharged to go back to their home with a healthy baby and they couldn’t be prouder. Obviously, their son’s strong, the Bakugous don’t break, they say.

Soon enough, the parents discover that Katsuki’s a noisy child, always screaming at the slightest hint of inconvenience. Not those kinds of cries that babies do when they’re still newborn like him _no_ , he screamed, kicked, and fought until he got what he wanted. It was tiring for them both, since the blonde was roughly a year or two away from learning how to talk, they couldn’t understand anything he was trying to say. More often than not, they were playing a guessing game, trying to appease the ticking time bomb waiting to blow. Funny they said that. Mitsuki and Masaru, bless their hearts, they were trying, they really were. _(For a while.)_

The first _real_ argument they had as a couple ever since Katsuki came into their life was about how troublesome he was. _(That argument’s still not resolved until this day.)_ You see, Mitsuki wasn’t fully prepared for a baby to take care of, she was still reeling over losing her model figure from pregnancy, the diminishing hours of sleep didn’t help either. She became crankier, more irritated, throwing herself onto her work to make back for the time she lost, and didn’t have enough patience to deal with a two month old screaming child. Masaru, ever gentle and unwavering, stood up for his son that just needed attention while the other’s burdened under the pressure of no sleep with work. Katsuki didn’t notice the implications at the time because how could he? Too busy and content with watching another mindless series on the television while his parents fought about the amount of time and space he took up. He didn’t understand it then, but he learns soon enough.

By the age of one, when children were supposed to be threading the line between babbling and baby talk, Katsuki already started talking fluent Japanese in simple words, almost like it’s second nature. It’s one of the rare moments his mother takes her time of the day to _look_ at him, she doesn’t do that a lot. It’s okay, he tells himself. She’s busy providing for his future, she says.

When he reaches three years old, his parents finally ease up on arguing every night about how he’s too much of a hassle to handle. By three, Katsuki’s holding a decent conversion with older people to everyone’s amazement. His mother brags and brags to her friends, about how _proud she is for her son, he’s smart of course, he came from me._ Somehow, he feels guilty for liking the attention of the woman, but when they go back to the solace of their spacious home with walls to separate them, they rarely ever meet again.

Sometimes, even how utterly stupid he feels when he thinks about it again after introspection, he wonders if he developed an invisibility quirk of some sort. That must explain why his own mother _won’t_ give him a time of her day. That explains it, right?

 _Wrong_.

At the same age, his family frequents to other countries more than before, slowly reverting back to the busy schedules before they had him. Before he came into their life and fucked up everything the two had, no matter how much they try to say otherwise. _(Their weekly arguments about him could be heard vibrating through their empty hallways.)_

Nevertheless, most of Katsuki’s favorite memories as a child were roaming around foreign fashion studios, the glitz and glamor, flashing lights, and killer runways. His parents notice his interest and couldn’t be more delighted. Katsuki poured himself onto the makings of the fashion industry, watching the models work with analytical eyes, learning the difference of color palettes, observing his father and mother work in their element. He did everything and anything to make his parents proud and he thought he did, judging by the way Mitsuki smiles when she _sees._

Seven years old and already familiar with the ins and out of modelling, Katsuki finds himself the center of attention once again when everyone finds his talent in quickly learning new languages, like he’s simply reviewing instead of treating them as foreign concepts. They praise and they praise, saying his brains will help him grow in the fashion industry when he’s older. Katsuki doesn’t have the heart to tell the new naïve models that he’s basically destined for that path, but never mind. What’s important is that Mitsuki looks at him again. He’ll keep improving just for his mother to notice him and everything he does.

Looking back, he should have known it only happened because of fashion. His parents thought he’d be their prodigy son to take over their legacy.

_He said no._

Another reason why Katsuki likes going to other countries, or even simply visiting where his parents worked, was because of the diva models and their dramas. Now, Katsuki would never admit even upon the fear of death that he’s a gossip, but _hey_ , growing up with them makes you lenient to these kinds of things. Especially since he likes to bitch about someone while doing his killer eyeliners. What stuck to him the most weren’t the rumors and useless cat fights about men or makeup no, it was the models themselves that practically raised him since he was around too often. He was like the son they didn’t have, or weren’t allowed to in their line of profession, and it was nice having someone dote on him for once. He should be grateful in all pretenses, but sometimes when he’s particularly tired, the figures models merge in his mind as the image of his mother. He quickly shakes out of it when the models ask if he’s sleepy without cursing him out.

“Kats, darling!” Shouts a beautiful French model in perfect Japanese from in front of her light up vanity mirror while holding a makeup bag filled to the brim, “Come practice your eyeliner with me!”

“Fucking coming Adri-san!” Answers a blonde boy as he stomps his way onto the model, albeit with minimal grumbling under his breath, as the said woman chuckles at the boy’s antics.

“Ugh come here kid, sit.”

Once Katsuki gets comfortable in _Adri-san’s_ custom made chair, he raises a perfectly made and trimmed eyebrow at the person in front of him, intimidating image ruined by the slight upward quirk of his lips for a smile and the simple fact that the people he’s surrounded with are more than used to his usual actions and disregard for normal manners of a decent human being.

A true gremlin, they dub.

She places her ever delicate hand under the younger’s chin to softly tilt his head up for a better angle as she deduces what kind of eyeliner best suits the boy. As if reading her exact train of thought, or maybe it’s the exposure to these kind of things everyday, Katsuki answers the question in her mind she’s musing over, “Classic winged, kinda like a winehouse but tone it down a bit.”

A hum is heard accompanied by the thought that the kid really knows his stuff. “Steady,” she says as her hand starts outlining the path of the eyeliner on his right eye, falling onto comfortable silence in contrast to the previous playful amusing banter. Such a comical sight for the woman Adrielle Couture, being one the rising models under _the_ Mitsuki Bakugou’s wing, applying makeup for her mentor’s son. What’s even more peculiar is the fact that at the mere age of 22, she’s given up her lifelong dream of bearing as many children she could and settle down happily. Modelling’s cruel in most aspects of life after all, even if it bears fruitful achievements and recognition. But now, as Adrielle moves onto the left eye of the seven year old, she can’t help but feel grateful for meeting the explosive kid that brought solace into her inner turmoil of regret.

Kid’s not that bad.

After a few more gentle strokes of a practiced hand, “All done sweetie,”

“Take a look and try to copy it, love.” She adds after a beat.

“Hah?! I’ll do better than this shit job!”

That causes an ugly snort to be pulled out off the ever charming model, the kid really is something else. Yeah, maybe this is what _Adri-san_ wanted her kids to be like.

“Oi! Wipe that look outta your face woman,” Katsuki snarks back at Adrielle, as the latter hasn’t even noticed the soft expression that donned her doll-like face and soft-looking features.

“Sure thing, now you ready?”

“Teach me how to up your wack eyeliner, Adri-san.”

They spend another five minutes going over the strokes and techniques onto properly creating a winged eyeliner with the shapes that needs to take place during the process. It takes them a total of ten minutes for Katsuki to start outlining eyeliner to the model’s eyes as snarky remarks and lighthearted banter circled around the two, delaying their course. It only took the child his first try to match an experienced person’s makeup, he’s a fast learning after all. Again, it must be the exposure, she thinks, since eyeliner’s tedious to create all in all.

“Say kid, wanna help pick out my outfit for me?”

“Should have known you needed help,” he replies with a snicker but it’s incomparable to the way his eyes light up with a new glimmer of interest. It tugs _something_ in Adrielle’s heart as she’s overwhelmed with fondness. She vaguely wonders why she hasn’t seen Mitsuki dote on her son and spend makeup bonding time with him, she would have mistaken that Katsuki already knew how to perfect eyeliner without the said person asking for her help. What kind of person wouldn’t want to spend time with this endearing kid (even though he acts like he isn’t), let alone his own mother? Adrielle never looked back at that passing thought, but then again, maybe she should have.

“What’d you say?” Her lips blossom onto a smile as she asks for confirmation to her extended invitation. She’s greeted with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, “Bring it on, lady.”

Katsuki’s most favorite and proudest moment with the models though was when they thought him how to swear _in other languages_. Don’t get him wrong, Mitsuki still cursed up a storm enough for him to adapt into his lifestyle even though his mother wasn’t around that frequently. He’d hear English or the occasional Russian curse words now and then when Mitsuki gets pricked by the needle she’s holding, causing her tongue to slip into foreign words, yet they weren’t that common so Katsuki never picked up on them to use, no matter how much he wants to.

As a seven year old with a gremlin attitude, Katsuki was attracted to the sudden burst of noise and curses from a closed room when he was wandering the hallway. Compelled by the _‘kindness of his heart’_ to check if everything’s okay inside, he pushed the door open to peer in. So maybe he was simply curious about the spitfire cuss words that he only hears in English movies that air every weekend, _sue him_.

“This _fucking asshole!_ I pay him more than his slimy ass needs and I get this shit,” a silky voice, ruined by the amount of cursing and screaming she’s sprouting out, greats Katsuki as he peaks his head inside. He couldn’t be more excited.

Pushing the door further open, he’s met with the sight of what seems to be an English model, judging from the way she speaks her sentences with lingering familiarity, trying to hastily curl her long blond hair while seething in front of a mirror. Katsuki couldn’t help but feel bad for the pitiful locks of hair under her stressful grip and forceful tugging, _shame_ _on her._

“ _Oi!_ Lady, what you doing?” He asks in a botched attempt of completing an English sentence, his accent undoubtedly slipping through the words.

“ _Fuck!_ ” She screams in surprises and visibly jolts in her seat as the curler she was previously holding clanks to the floor. The model whips her head around to find the source of her added suffering and when she sets her eyes on Katsuki, her shoulders visibly sag. “Ugh, I thought it was my _shit_ of a styler, kid you scared me.” She said in continuous Japanese except for that one word.

Huh, guess it’s his lucky day then.

Katsuki makes his way onto the woman picking up her fallen equipment, “Say that again,”

“Huh?”

“Say it again,”

“Which one, kid?”

He wordlessly snatches the hair culler from the other’s hand and gently place a chunk of her hair into the culler, effectively starting the process of hair styling that the model couldn’t continue. “The curse word in English.”

“Ah. _Shit._ ”

_“Shit?”_

The word pulls a laugh out of the model as she makes a move to introduce herself to her temporary ‘stylist.’ “Ella Jackson brat, I’ve heard a lot about you. They said you had a loudmouth; you don’t know how to say _shit_?”

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he takes out the prior locks of her from the culler and lets them bounce down in perfect waves before he continues with the other side of Ella’s head. “This studio’s mostly for French and Russian models, don’t know what the _fuck_ an English one like you is doing here.” He answers in the model’s native tongue, albeit with the curses still in proper Japanese. The M&M Corporation building they were in is situated in the heart of Musutafu, smack dab on the busiest street they have. The ones filled with English models were situated in Tokyo, he visited there from time to time yet not substantial enough.

“But you understand English?” She asked with a tilt of her head, signifying confusion. “Want me to teach you, kid?” A feral grin stretches against her lips that Katsuki only sees through the mirror she’s facing.

“ _Fuck yeah_ Ella-san,” he replies with a smirk just like hers but with a more dangerous glint on them as he bares his teeth, showing his sharp canines.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Eventually, he grew closer and closer with every model that set foot in the M&M: Musutafu Studio and loses a ‘family member’ when they inevitably leave the business. The Bakugou parents jumped from place to place all around the country of Japan, but stays longer in said building, the nearest one to their house. Katsuki seldom came with his parents went they ventured to their other establishments, opting to stay alone at home lest he miss a day at school. The models, slightly catching onto Katsuki’s home situation but drafting it down as busy parents and not borderline child neglect, invites him to come over and help with their runways during weeks where the Bakugou couple has business out of the country.

Katsuki may not have been raised by his parents, _no._ He grew up with a large number of models that showed him he wasn’t alone.

As the years go on, by the time he’s ten years old, he _~~re~~_ discovered his talent in well, _talents._ Apparently, the great prodigy Bakugou Katsuki was good at _everything_ he set his heart into. His parents being themselves, exploited that fact beyond the limit.

 _The Bakugous don’t break_ , Mitsuki says.

Sometimes, when his mother utters that exact line to remind him of his lineage. Katsuki can’t help but think his father’s the one saying it. He’ll wake up from a nightmare whispering _“made of iron”_ into the darkness without prompting. It’s weird, he doesn’t know exactly _why_ , but he guesses it doesn’t mean anything.

For the rest of his life, Katsuki’s stuck with “padding out his resume,” as his parents’ call. They made him apply for different after school and weekend hobbies to polish and maintain his abilities, “Apply your talents onto good use,” his teachers remark. He knows it’s never truly for him though, it simply comes down to the title he’s been brandishing from the start.

 _Prodigy child_ , they all say.

It’s one of those rare evenings where the family gathers together and eats, either in glaring silence or screaming matches — now’s the former, instead of travelling or overworking themselves, holed up in their own rooms doing their own things. During these kinds of dinners, Katsuki already has the sneaking suspicion his parents want something from him. They never bothered before, why now.

“Kat darling, me and your mother have been thinking about your future,” His father starts after he finishes his coffee. This causes the boy to pause his eating movements midair and turn to look at the person speaking.

 _Ah_ , there it is.

He can’t help but glance towards his mother that’s sipping her jasmine tea, she never did like coffee, something his dad drowns every night to get ready for late at home work. Mitsuki sits ever regal against her chair, looking down at the curry he prepared for them.

After a few seconds of assessing the situation, his eyes revert back to Masaru while raising an eyebrow in silent acknowledgement and a clear question in his nonchalant actions, _what do you need?_

 _‘Need’_ , Katsuki bitterly thinks. When they talk in calm manners, there’s always a punchline. He hates it, hates the fact his parents only look at him when it’s _worth it_.

Masaru takes a moment to collect his thoughts, his son guesses that the “idea” they’ve been talking about is important. He just doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. “Katsuki, me and your mother take the time to not directly expose you to the media for safety reasons, but you’re still a figure.” he starts to explain.

The person in question makes a noncommittal grunt, not knowing where this conversation is heading. Mitsuki, seated beside her husband, decides to bite the bullet and addressing the elephant in the room. “We’re signing you up for extra training after school, brat.”

“Training?” Well that’s new, he hasn’t spoken about his lifelong dreams as a child to his parents yet, knowing full well they expect him to take up the mantle under their business.

The father, ever patient, senses Katsuki’s confusion and mediates the incoming screaming match between the two hot heads because of a mere misunderstanding. “For your resume, you know? Apply for a sport, learn an instrument, go to advance studies, and what not.”

 _Be the prodigy son the public sees you as,_ they don’t have to spell it out for him to know it’s there. The media in the fashion industry has deemed him the perfect fashion and business son successor even before he was born. He’s always been meant to live up to their expectations, their beliefs, their views, _their, their, their_. When he grew older and developed his _astounding_ vocabulary and ‘teenage rebellion’, as his mother scornfully dubs, his parents never went through with their plans of his public debut. The event where his life becomes transparent for all the world to see.

Sometimes Katsuki wonders which option was better — sacrifice his dreams for his parents’ path or live in solace with their disappointment.

Whatever, it’s not like he had a choice.

His bitterness must have shown on his face because Masaru tries to placate his inner turmoil _(he doesn’t care, it’s all for the publicity)_ , “You can pick whatever you want Kats, just widen your skill set. We’re looking out for you.”

Even now, he still doesn’t have a choice.

Might as well go along their wishes, “Sure,” he says. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, having to bribe his parents to simply _look_ at him in somber moments without bits of screaming. Masaru smiles like nothing’s wrong and Mitsuki glances at him from across the table. She gives him a nod, satisfied with his answer and compliance. They don’t say anything more after that, content with finishing their dinner in utter silence. It’s almost like one wrong line can ruin what they have as a family. Katsuki doesn’t know how long they’ve been like this, threading the line between white noise or deafening screaming.

Maybe their family’s always been fragile. But then again, _the Bakugous don’t break_.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice that his parents already finished their food. Doesn’t notice the tension between their shoulders, trying to think whether or not they should stay with him. It doesn’t matter anyway, they always make the same choice.

“It’s for your own future kid,” Mitsuki says as they leave.

“I’ll apply tomorrow,” Katsuki says as he stays.

The blonde idly thinks if his ‘future’ consists of him sitting alone in a dinning hall too big to fit a family of three, maybe it isn’t worth it. Then again, he never had a choice, did he?

Tomorrow comes and his parents leaves him alone for the day to make due to his promise. He scours the internet for hobbies his parents would want him to have, how long they take to study, and who offers those kinds of services around his area. He jots down music as something he’d explore in every avenue, soccer as his sports since his school’s team is relatively impressive, some general dance classes to keep his figure up, and advance classes on all his subjects.

He visits the school faculty Monday morning right after the weekend to apply his grades for the advance classes and asks about the sports tryout. His teachers couldn’t be happier, the soccer team invites him in for practice, hell even _Deku’s_ overjoyed since he attends the same class now, “We have the same schedule, Kacchan!”

Katsuki spends his day in the “smart fuckers” room and basks in the lessons they give him, forcing him to actually think instead of mindless tests he’d aced before. His teacher’s the type of person he hates the most out of all humanity, the unicorns and rainbows one. Katsuki’s convinced Ms Takera’s the sun in human form with how bright she smiles, but nevertheless, she gives them all a consistent ninety percent grade before classes end to promote the “competitive spirit” and that the “place for improvement” is equal in everyone.

The blonde also decides she’s the first teacher he’s ever liked. He’s got a new challenge waiting in his backpack in the form of homework packets, determined to get that one hundred percent grade.

He joins in on the pre-tryouts practice the soccer team holds and beats almost half of them in endurance and physical tests. Most of all, he had _fun_ having running competitions until they can’t breathe normally and visibly red in the face. Enjoyed kicking soccer balls to hell and _maybe_ pushing his teammates too hard when they got in his way during the game. The best part is though? They _pushed back_. Aside from that, the coach cursed like a sailor and believed in practicing until they dropped, Katsuki liked all of them already.

The team readily accepts him onto their ranks even without a proper tryout and successfully ranked top two in his new classes by the end of the day.

The next weekend comes soon enough as he finds himself on hold for a phone call with the music studio ten minutes away from his house. The obnoxious elevator music abruptly stops to make way for a new voice, “Elite Music Academy, how may I help you?”

“Still accepting new students?” He asks.

“Yes sir, you’re name please,” They converse for another minute to settle his credentials before they ask what classes he’s applying for.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure how to proceed by still following what his parents asked of him, “Uh- All I guess? Are there fucking classes like that?”

The man answers him with a deadpan voice across the line, “Yes sir, we offer fucking classes like that.” His tone makes Katsuki chuckle a bit before asking the price and scheduling his appointments for every weekend.

“So, prodigy huh?” The tone’s teasing yet he could sense the contemplative edge onto it. Damn he’s smart. The guy doesn’t sound that much older that Katsuki, judging from his voice after they break the professional atmosphere.

“You could say that.” Katsuki explains vague enough to be the cryptid this world needs. He’s answered with a hum, almost like the worker knows exactly what situation he’s in. Maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t, in the end nothing changes anyway.

Katsuki finds his way to the building where his new lessons are held soon enough and is bombarded with the noise of different styles of music from each floor. There’s classical, metal, and pop, but Katsuki truthfully doesn’t know which one he’ll participate in according to his parent’s vague instructions. He’d personally go into metal and maybe some pop for sure, but this wasn’t for _him_.

He makes his way onto the front desk and comes face to face with who he assumes the person he conversed with through the phone. They look a bit plain at first due to their unassuming black hair and work uniform, nothing standing out except for a few piercings in one ear but that’s about it. Aside from the fact he’s the literal definition of _pretty boy_ , not Katsuki’s type sure, but it stands all the same. The guy sees him approach and reaches down the counter to presumably get his application sheet to officially start.

“What courses you want, kid?”

He hasn’t decided a specific one even at this point in time, so Katsuki opts to ask if they have general classes. “Sure, any interests?” The other inquires in response.

“If I had a fucking interest, I won’t be taking this stupid class,” He snarks back while the answer snorts in languid agreement, as if he’d done this song and dance before.

“I like you-,” He says with a singsong voice and a teasing tilt of his head as he continues, “I’ll be the one handling all the gen classes. We can start you off in five minutes, spitfire.”

“Bakugou Katsuki,” The nicknames nice and all, has a great ring to it, though he doubts the other remembers his name.

“Ito Mamoru, _spitfire_.”

Katsuki decides he likes this one as he turns around with a roll of his eyes, stomping to the nearest waiting room he saw when he walked in.

 _Protect_ , huh? Weird name.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when he finds out his undeniable talent in _talents_ holds the same merit for instruments as he seemingly knows how to play each on present in the music room. Mamoru teases him relentlessly for being his _‘number one student’_ and _‘prodigy child’_ , but Katsuki notices the way pride blossoms in the other’s eyes and the upward tilt of his lips when he keeps up with the unfamiliar notes of a musical sheet in front of him.

His new mentor’s good at what he does, Katsuki can respect that, but he’s also not sure how to make due of the way the nineteen year old could observe him under an analytical gaze and give him contemplative advice under the guise of teasing with bouts of flirting from time to time.

Out of all the instruments Katsuki excelled at, anyone with eyes could see the way he absolutely _shines_ when he plays the drums. In hindsight, it’s almost like it’s made for him, with his booming personality and quirk. It loud and it’s demeaning, the entire backbone of a song, yet there are times where it’s subtle and consistent. Most off all, any person that has been in the vicinity of one Bakugou Katsuki for at least five minutes can already deduce that he likes banging and hitting the everloving fuck out of the drums, it’s a win-win situation.

True to Katsuki’s walking contradiction nature, his second favorite could debatably be the piano. He’s had minimum background experience, mostly from watching his father play in silence with the grand piano situated in their living room. They didn’t teach him _how_ , too busy and caught up with work. Katsuki decides that he likes it, adores the way it could go from fast to slow and meek to boisterous, and how those two things can collide at the same time. It’s a different pace from his life, playing classical music and getting lost in the melodramatic presence of the notes. Yet playing the piano for Katsuki is sometimes daunting, it’s delicate and elegant in all senses, so unlike _him_.

Mahoro, knowing exactly where Katsuki’s line of thought was heading when he spaced out by simply staring at the way his fingers situate themselves on the keys, _“What you get out of a piano depends on how you play it,”_ he said.

The younger may have scoffed and rolled their eyes, saying he undoubtedly knows that his _sensei_ got it from some shitty Pinterest page, but the tension between Katsuki’s shoulder relaxes all the same. It’s nice having someone pay attention to how he feels once in a while.

Surprising everyone in the room filled with “extras” as he calls them, Katsuki inherited his father’s angelic voice gifted in the art of singing, concealed by the rough and brutish way he speaks. What they’re hearing goes against their first impressions about the blonde, his voice is borderline gentle and serene in a certain song then switching to a powerful booming one if the song demands it. Alike everything else Katsuki does in life, his singing carries his passionate personality wherein one can’t help but simply be _drawn_ to him like a moth to a flame.

Katsuki absolutely preens under their awestruck gazes and showers of praises, seeing as the only other people that has heard this innate talent in singing are the models he grew up with. He doesn’t indulge in singing other than when he’s taking a peaceful hiking trip all alone. Katsuki noticeably moves the topic along when his classmates ask where he gets his voice from. As it’s part of a bittersweet memory, a fragment of the past of his father, he doesn’t want to dig up what’s willfully buried.

Masaru Bakugou, kind in all pretenses, used to watch over him when he was a child. (Like all parents should, though Masaru’s habit didn’t last long. _Typical_.) During particular nights where he’d participated in a screaming match against his mother, the other would wordlessly open his bedroom door to be greeted with the sight of Katsuki’s hunched form tucked under layers and layers of blankets. Masaru phrased it as looking out for his son in troubled times by walking near his bed and singing a lullaby Katsuki can’t remember, tucked away and lost by the sea of time. It became routine for them to sit in silence, nothing but shallow breathing sometimes accompanied by hiccupping cries and the gentle caress of an evening song.

Alike all constants in Katsuki’s life, they leave.

Mitsuki has gotten word of her husband and son’s tradition practiced at night when she’s “working her ass off and doing something productive.” They fought right outside Katsuki’s room late evening, Mitsuki demanding why Masaru needs to comfort a growing menace of a child when he can take care of himself. _(It shouldn’t work like that.)_ The man’s weak defense reigns futile under his wife’s sharp glare. If you were to ask Katsuki, Masaru didn’t eve try at all. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, what matters is that he never came back.

 _The Bakugous don’t break_ , they say.

Katsuki was nine years old when he believed his father’s actions were out of pity.

It never left his head.

After a year of training in “padding out his resume,” his parents sign him up for recitals and competitions. He _despises_ it, hates the fact that he’s fighting for gold he’d never dreamt of having. Most of all, he’s eaten alive by the the ranges of emotions he can’t understand when he wins with ‘crowned pride’ he’ll never truly feel. The lines upon lines of trophies and medals in the walls of their house mean nothing to him but a simple reminder that all he has in life are hallow victories.

Mitsuki tells him to straighten his back for the honorary pictures at the awarding to show appreciation for something he hasn’t bothered to remember. Smile of the cameras, Masaru reminds him like he’s the main prize, nothing more than simple entertainment.

Sometimes Katsuki wonders if what he does mean anything at all.

He didn’t model as a baby contrary to popular belief, they said he was too much to handle on set, and didn’t follow his parent’s path until he was twelve years old since his mother doesn’t want his debut to start with pre-puberty looks that he had in middle school’s early years. Katsuki started contracting with elite brands all over the world off the bat, his Bakugou name getting picked immediately out of all candidates.

Katsuki will forever hate that he’s bound to his parents’ legacy through name alone.

Mitsuki and Masaru gushed at him during his first model shoot, a simple suit and tie as his official presentation to the fashion world. They carefully helped him wear his make-up and tie he couldn’t fix. The Bakugous either moves in silence or in chaos — this isn’t any different. Thankfully, all his model friends he’s made over the years supported him as he faced the blinding lights of the cameras. Katsuki posed and moved gracefully under their scrutiny, something the directors baffle in when he opens his mouth to release _“such foul words, young man.”_ He clamps his lips and bite his tongue, not wanting to aggravate his parents as they glare onto his head to stop.

He rearranges his face and body, moving onto another step as the lights greet him once again. Katsuki doesn’t speak a word after that and his parents couldn’t be prouder.

Everything seems fake, looks fake, feels fake, _fake, fake, and fake_.

When the magazine finally released, he made front cover on Teen Vogue. “RISING FASHION PRODIGY,” they said while he’s showered with empty praises about his fair skin, striking hair, and deadly eyes. Mitsuki smugly hangs it up on their wall for all to see, next to his middle school graduation photograph and other merits of certifications.

Katsuki doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

He had fun, at least.

The same year, his father expanded M&M Corporations onto newer and bolder heights into America. It was their busiest year as Katsuki rarely saw them home, too occupied planning meetings in New York. He couldn’t blame them for chasing their dreams, as Katsuki felt overwhelmed with pride when he watched them cut the red ribbon of their newest building on live television. He just wishes he were there, that’s all.

He spends his days modelling every month and going to extra lessons each weekend. Sitting in front of the piano as he plays Masaru’s favorite piece, Katsuki can’t help but grow to hate the silence that follows him everywhere.

When he was in the last year of middle school, Mitsuki decides to take a backseat on her modelling as she lets younger models steal the stage. Katsuki thinks she took retirement well, opting to instead burry herself more in depth with M&M’s Model Agency, taking even more aspiring models under her wing.

Katsuki admires his mother in small moments like these as he watches her be the best at what she does while helping to create a future that’s even better. In slow picturesque scenes of helping Mitsuki by handing her the correct lipstick she asks for and standing beside her figure while they scrutinize an assortment of models on the runway.

“What’d you think of her brat?” She’ll ask occasionally when debating whether or not the young woman they saw is fit for the grueling world of the fashion gig.

“Good enough, can use some help though.” He’ll reply thoughtfully as he recalls back on to the way the model flaunted the clothes she was given.

Mitsuki will nod and check whatever box she deems fit on the application form before calling for the next candidate. They’ll stand in contemplative silence or screaming matches of banter. It’s an odd sight to new people walking through the door, but he guesses they’ve always been quite dysfunctional.

In times like these, Katsuki thinks they can work things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment down below!
> 
> i'm so sorry for the long wait, i know it's not a lot right now but for chapters without fight scenes or are simple worldbuilding will remain 5k-7k words while the more important ones range from 10k-15k (not @ me having chaps w 20k outlines but okay) !! and yes i have outlined this whole fic so rest assured THIS WILL NEVER BE ABANDONED.
> 
> though i'm telling all of you now, school is kicking my ass so updates are sporadic, i couldn't make due of my promise to have a schedule as this took me a literal month to make and i just finished it today. that said, it's more likely that i'm going to be posting on weekends more, specifically sunday!
> 
> Next Chapter: _“if you're nothing without this suit then you shouldn't have it”; spiderman homecoming_
> 
> [ fic references ](https://asouefanpage.wixsite.com/arschemy)  
> [ arschemy's tumblr ](https://arschemy.tumblr.com/post/627311169446772736/welcome-33)  
> [ arschemy's twitter ](https://twitter.com/arschemy)

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave kudos and comments, i'll read every one of them! thank you for reading and i'll be updating 12th day of the month (if i can) due to school workload, stick around!


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